


It Fits

by megyal



Category: Bandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-30
Updated: 2006-08-30
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megyal/pseuds/megyal





	It Fits

"Patrick," Pete is saying heavily, fingers scrounging around in Andy's bowl of chips; Andy shoves the bowl roughly in his hands and gets up from the couch where they had all been stuffed watching the World Cup. "Dude. Are you fucking Sashi?"

Patrick tries to look affronted and gives up in the middle of it, because, you know, it takes too much energy. Shit.

"That's pretty crass, Pete," Patrick veers off, ignoring Pete's elbow jabbing into the top of his hip-bone. In addition to being crass, Pete has sharp elbows. Pointy. With a strange dip.

"Sashi is cool. Sashi. Is...Sashi is The Shit," Joe expounds, watching the television closely. By closely, this means he might be a little less than six inches away from the screen. Joe can almost smell the turf.

Pete's elbow digs even more, and Patrick sighs, trying to pull himself up from in betwixt the sofa's plush arm and Pete's non-plush joint.

"And. Where...where would you hear a thing like that?" Patrick has given up on his escape plot. Pete's elbow is his cell-door. Pete glares with practiced heat.

"Apparently. Disashi talks. In his sleep."

***

"Sorry 'bout that," Sashi says comfortably, his breath humming around the skin on Patrick's neck. Patrick doesn't shift away, not like he usually would, because he has a pet peeve about _certain people_ breathing down his damned neck; instead he moves closer so that the breath is hot and pooled moist right in the curves of his collarbone. Sashi is warm dark heat wrapped all around him, mint chocolate, mysterious and refreshing. Patrick likes the hotel rooms with the mirrors. That way he can see the milk of his skin spilling across the mahogany expanse of Dishashi.

"When I'm extra tired, I talk in my sleep." Disashi talks in measured tones, each word with its own sturdy weight slipping heavily through a full mouth, fuller than Patrick's. Patrick wonders if he speaks the same way in his sleep. "I guess Travie heard."

"Pete said Travie _recorded_ it."

("Patrick?" Travis had hollered in amused shock as Sashi awoke in a snap, Travis' sidekick held near his face like an intrepid reporter. "Patrick?"

"Yes," Sashi spat, pulling the sheet over his head and turning almost immediately back into sleep. "Yes, yes, _Patrick_.")

"Yeah. That asshole."

"What was it?" Patrick picks up the slim wrist resting limply on his sternum, and presses his fingers in chords against the pulse. A-minor, C-major, D, all in time with the bassline of the faint beats. He feels Sashi's breath slow to match the unheard rests, minims and semibreves shimmering into his skin. His whole arm is now Patrick's fretboard and Patrick executes a slide chord up to the crook of his elbow, laughing a little. They lay in a full bare silence until Sashi feels like answering.

"Something about you giving me all the right notes. Or all the right moves. Or something."

"I've _never_ dreamt of you," Patrick grins, at ease with Sashi because Sashi never overwhelms him, never makes him feel like Its Urgent, Has to Be Done Now, Death Before Dishonour, This is Really Important. Sashi could sit around all day, his dark eyes soaked in the three-beat time of a waltz, his fingers strumming idly against the fabric of his jeans. Sashi huffs a little, licking luxuriously at the crux of Patrick's jaw and neck under his ear.

"You lie so bad, Stump."

***

"We gotta break them up," Pete says in deep desperation to Travis, who is eyeing William with an even deeper distraction. WIlliam has Gabe draped all over his shoulders, giggling loudly over the cool murmurs of the after-party. "He's too fucking happy."

"This is true," Patrick says from behind them, smiling into Pete's scowl, his eyes sharp, bright. Disashi is standing behind _him_ , loose and dark, and smiling too, and Pete is just a little awed by the complete contrasting effect of their skin together, as Sashi rests a casual arm on top of Patrick's shoulder, the the back of his knuckles near the smooth downswing of Patrick's jaw. But their eyes are both the same, soft and yet infallible, and Pete realises that he has never seen such an at-ease look in Patrick's face. When _they_ were together, Patrick almost always looked pretty pissed.

Travis has left him to go stalking after William.

Alone at the battlefront, Pete eyes Disashi with sudden concern.

"Is that Patrick's shirt? Patrick's mint-green polo?"

Sashi looks down.

"Oh. Yeah. Its a little big. But its really comfy...and I love the pattern."

Pete rolls his eyes and then decides to give up and play nice.

"You know what? It fits you."  



End file.
